


Grasp the Nettle

by hornblowerfic_archivist



Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-03
Updated: 2006-10-03
Packaged: 2018-05-22 12:30:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6079413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hornblowerfic_archivist/pseuds/hornblowerfic_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nature calls at the most inconvenient of moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grasp the Nettle

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Hornblowerfic.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hornblowerfic.com). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in January 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [Hornblowerfic.com collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hornblowerfic/profile).

The sun was, indeed, very hot. Having mounted on the climax of its path, it turned the sky into a colourless plate of metal. Under it, trapped much like boiling food is held in a pot, were men who nature had painted in different colours at their birth, but the blazing sphere above now made all equally black. Even a sharpest eye would fail to see the distinction between the many tiny figures of men toiling about, and the question of friend or foe was a matter of memory.

The line of the guns at the fort shuddered with recoil as another volley rumbled; the shots rose reluctantly on their trajectory through the air made thick with heat and smoke, and descended onto the long waterway of the gulf. The metal tube of the spyglass in Bush’s hands was branding hot both from his eager grip and the intransigent rays of the sun.

It was, above all, a test. A test of their endurance and attention, and while their minds, driven by duty and, to a considerable extent, venture (a sizeable component of any long range shooting, Bush admitted), their bodies struggled to overcome traps set by fatigue that was closing in as indivertibly as the tide.

As time went by, simple bodily demands made their focus waver. Thirst, hunger, lack of sleep and overall physical exhaustion added a distraction upon distraction, and even the best zeal was gradually wearing out. As the senior officer Bush kept an eye on his men, hopelessly considering possible replacements from the scarce choice of hands he had available in the fort. He could show some ingenuity in substituting members of the guncrew, but no calculation, however clever, would find a stand-in for the scarce officers to carry on the command.

He watched Hornblower obliquely to notice any sign of failing, even though he had no idea what he would do in that case. They had a copious drink from the well a while ago, but it was only a short relief. Glassy water surface of the gulf below was a constant temptation that whipped up thirst and lulled the will to persist. Bush was contemplating the immediacy of the lure of thirst as compared to the lure of sleep when a more urgent need suddenly stated its prevalence.

“Mr. Hornblower, please keep an eye on the proceedings as I will excuse myself…momentarily.”

Hornblower looked at the gulf and then back at him with pained eyes, and Bush smartly realized that at the well his junior officer had had a far more generous gulp of water than he had allowed himself. Shortly before, when the gulf was alive with evolutions stirred by a fickle wind, call of duty stifled all other calls, but now, with the wind temporarily dead and all participants of the battle stuck in their positions in a sudden intermission, the voice of nature was easily heard.

“Well, if we are quick…”

Hornblower’s dry lips moved in muted gratitude, and they both went down the stone stairs of the tower to look for a place private enough. There was no time to search for the proper facilities, and Bush headed for the nearest wall, certain that the men, roused to activity, would pay little attention. He surely would.

The younger officer though, who had just been darting alongside with him, was now falling behind. When Bush, as much mindful of decorum as a dog in the park happy to find its favourite tree, took his position facing the wall, Hornblower was still in the middle of the yard, squinting his eyes against the sunshine.

“Mr. Hornblower, we don’t have forever for this.”

With all honesty it couldn’t be said that Hornblower was shy – that quality was quickly eradicated from anyone who had been a midshipman – but he was clearly self-conscious about his privacy. That was a luxury to be earned; Bush, for one, even in his wildest dreams didn’t let himself hope for a cabin that would be all his own, conveniences included. A wall was as good a place as any.

Hesitation bravely conquered, Hornblower stood next to him, eyes firmly fixed on the stones directly in front of him, hands fumbling with his clothes. Bush, being the ever consistent man, was looking where he aimed at the dry, cracked ground. Behind them the men at the battery were catching their breath using the quiet moment, and in the unexpected silence their long-held streams purled in loud unison. Hornblower coughed timidly in a vain attempt to create a veil of innocent sound but quickly choked on his ‘a-hem’ at the futility of it.

“A very trying weather, isn’t it?” remarked Bush mercifully.

“Very much so, sir,” answered Hornblower in his best conversational tone when a desperate cry at the battery and a hurried sputter of gunshots ruffled the tranquility of the moment. The fifth lieutenant almost jumped and started to turn sharply, which made the direction of his stream draw a parabolic line across the wall and onto Bush’s boots.

“Mind your way, Mr…” Bush exclaimed and went silent fast as he understood that his hand, raised in a politely preventive manner, had just made a rather firm contact with Hornblower’s nakedness.

“I…My sincerest apologies, sir!” the fifth stammered out, quickly forcing the rest of the redundant moisture out of his clumsy body so that it would fall a safe distance from his shipmate.

Bush watched him out of the corner of his eye, justifying his improper nosiness by caution but in fact quite fascinated by the process. The fifth shook off the last drops, and the cracks in the dry soil seemed to suck them up with a shameless frankness that only inanimate nature could afford. But Bush, being a British officer, could only lick his parched lips at the memory of a fleeting but enveloping touch and feel with all inevitability of eternal damnation that it brought no relief.


End file.
